


Portrait (Too Much Blood)

by MesmiraculouslyMirthful



Series: Goretober [15]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood as art supplies, Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, F/M, Nude Modeling, Nudity, Pale-Caliginous Vacillation, improper use of a filial pail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MesmiraculouslyMirthful/pseuds/MesmiraculouslyMirthful
Summary: He had juggled lucky this perigree, and he up and knew that like scripture.





	Portrait (Too Much Blood)

He liked to paint out of buckets. Well, not exactly but for all intents and purposes such a motherfucking description was good enough. Wasn’t the act of painting out of a messiah damned filial pail that he enjoyed so much as it was the reaction he got out of any fucker as what not kin when they bore witness to it. There was something holy in the hilarity of it all, watching their heretic faces blanche or colour with nary a scrap of paint to hide away the shock. 

Even had a bottom feeding wader up and go topsy turvy, fainting like they was the main protagonist of a trashy palenography, last time Meenah and her entourage came about. Hadn’t taken much, just him dipping his fingers up in the pail and them coming back slicked with fresh teal, and that had been motherfucking that. His fishbitch had chuckled mighty fierce at that and later on his hands on her face he had joked that maybe he could make a proper believer outta her faithless bass, and she had papped him hard on the cheek and laughed.

Good shit, that. Wasn’t too often he got to see her, him being in charge of the whole Mirthful Church and her tasked with running the entire empire. Both of them had to make time now, made it a touch harder to get their shooshes and paps on all personal like. Wasn’t the same, joking around over fleetnet or textin her shellphone. 

Point being, their time was fucking bitchtits miraculous and rare as up and could be, so he cherished that fierce as any newly blooded chucklefucker could. He had juggled lucky this perigree, and he up and knew that like scripture. The whole of the Big Top was coming up on the fanged end of a holy week, which meant that besides a few sermons there was fuck all to obligation wise, and Meenah had just netted herself another planet so shit was gravy on that end too.

Best part of it was that this week was all about quadrants, the keeping and care of those what made you sharp and clever, kept you from doing harm unmeant at yourself or others. Meant that a whole lotta clowns were getting rowdy with every colour of the motherfucking rainbow, whoop whoop. Quadrants week was dope as anything up and could be, celebrating the joys of flesh and soul and bloodpusher. 

Was a auspicious thing, that he and Meenah had such long stretch of time with both of them being as free as they were in wigglerhood. After sermon on the first night they had absconded to his personal chambers, spent the night and day doing each others nails and hair and talking smack like nobody’s business. Next night shit had gotten heavy, and they had curled up in his pile of skulls and faygo bottles and all the glittery shit she was always sending to him,and they had jammed out damn near a sweeps worth of problems. 

Kurloz couldn't rightly remember the last time he felt so good, so carefree and cared for. Love of his brothers and sisters in faith was strong, was motherfucking abiding and binding, but wasn't the love of his darkest diamond dear. Wasn’t a fucker alive as globes gobbling terrifying and titilating, wasn’t a soul that could sooth him to tears and push him to blackest passion like her. Crazy ass fishbitch.

Meenah was lounging across his throne, her eyes dark and clouded with mischief, naked as the day she was hatched. Hit him fierce, the angle of her smile, the flash of her fangs. How she looked more at ease in his throne than he did, clothed in nothing but her crown and gold.

“Yo basshole, paint me pike one a your clown gills?” She quiped. She posed dramatically, the back of her frond daintily touching her forehead. It was part tease, part challenge, and part serious request. 

“Fucking really Meenah? What would you have up and done if another fucker other than this had walked in and saw you?” 

“Probably have let em get a good look at the royeel treasures, obvfishly. I ain’t got shit to hide, I know I look fintastic.” She fluffed her hair and looked at him all dramatic, her pink lips curled in a smirk. “Whale? You gonna do this shit?”

“Fine. I expect you to frame this pretty as all fuck, like in gold or some shit like that. Hang it up proud as globes.” Kurloz smirked. “Gonna get kin to give me all as I need to do this up right, so unless you were seriously _conchidering_ letting everyone catch a glimpse of the royal rumblespheres you might wanna put a robes or what the fuck ever on.” It was said in mocking challenge, his eyes glowing with mirth. 

“I’m serious enough basshole. Bring in the clowns.” She laughed and sunk further into his throne, her legs thrown over one of the armrests while her head hung over the other. 

He did, calling for several of his kin as he knew would both enjoy the brief show and keep their mouths shut after. They set up a large canvas, an easel, and a large pillow for him to sit comfortable on. They stared at Her Imperious Condescension the whole while, faces lit up in confusion at the casual way she lounged on the Grand Highblood’s throne. She smiled at them, wiggled her golden clad fingers hello. 

Kin next brought forth bucket after bucket filled with blood, in every color and every hue that they had stored up, until Kurloz was surrounded by more filial pails than the mothergrub during drone season. Was practically not a foot of floor near him as was clear of the stuff.

“Holy ship clownfish, did you cull an army or somethin?” Meenah peered at the buckets of blood in suprise. "Is all this reely necessary?”

“Or something, Meenah. Shit’s all kind of motherfucking necessary. Hell, I might need more, not sure yet. Now strike a pose and hold the fuck still, Messiahs sake.” 

Kurloz Makara, Grand Highblood of the Mirthful Church, made himself comfortable and began to paint.


End file.
